


What Curiosity Did to the Cat

by Fox_In_A_Box



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Again Not Graphic, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Autopsies, Biting, Blood, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, One Shot, Spoopy AU Just In Time For Halloween, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vampire!Oswald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27167353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_In_A_Box/pseuds/Fox_In_A_Box
Summary: Keeping a promise he made in dire times, Oswald helps his new human friend learn more about vampires and their feeding habits. And maybe, just maybe, discovers something about himself in the process.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	What Curiosity Did to the Cat

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, I wanted to write something spoopy for Halloween to continue last year's tradition, but I couldn't come up with anything. Then I remembered about an old Vampire AU idea I had ages ago. I probably will never get around to writing the full story I had in mind (I can't be trusted with long fics, ugh), so I decided to write a small one-shot set in the same universe instead. 
> 
> The premise is basically as follows: Gotham is not-so-secretly ruled by vampire gangs. Vampire Oswald is saved by human Ed after being left for dead by his own men, who had conspired to overthrow him. Feeling indebted to him, Oswald decides to help him with his research on vampires, their hidden world, and their biology.

Oswald watched the young forensic scientist at work. Rubber gloves on, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and a variety of metallic instruments lined up on a small tray nearby, he was ready to begin conducting his examination.

Not many people would have been as comfortable getting up close and personal with a fresh corpse – not many _humans_ , at the very least, and he had met his fair share of vampires who trembled and gagged all through the aftermath of their first feeding sessions. But Ed Nygma was no ordinary human, that much he had had the dubious privilege of learning during the hectic weeks that had marked the birth of their unlikely friendship.

There he was now, bent over the exsanguinated body of Oswald's most recent victim, studying every scratch, bruise, and puncture wound, brown eyes shining with glee behind the lenses of his glasses. Every now and again, Oswald would hear him mutter something unintelligible under his breath. Though unable to grasp the exact words, the elated grin plastered over his face gave him a pretty good idea of what he might have been murmuring to himself as he picked up one of his tools: a litany of _fascinating!_ and _remarkable, truly remarkable!_ Interspersed with obscure medical jargon he wouldn't have understood if he had tried.

Ed leaned forward, one elbow planted on the slab to help keep his balance as he lifted the dead man's eyelids one at a time, inspecting the state of the pupils beneath. Oswald's own eyes followed the movement, captivated in spite of himself. There wasn't much he could do to keep them from settling on the sliver of neck just above the rucked-up collar of the young man's button-down, left exposed by the slight tilt of his head. He subconsciously ran his tongue over the edge of his teeth, grateful for both the lingering aftertaste of his meal and for the unpleasant chemical stench permeating the lab, keeping his preternatural instincts at bay. It wasn't the first time his mind wandered towards such dangerous territory, and it certainly wasn't going to be the last. It was, he would have argued, simply in his nature. Alas, honour and respect were part of his nature just as much as bloodlust was. Oswald Cobblepot was and always had been a man, a _creature_ of his word.

He forced himself to look away, try and focus on something else. Anything that wasn't the excited flutter of Ed's heartbeat whenever he spied a new, most interesting detail that had previously escaped his attention. The old-fashioned clock hanging above the door read 3:25 AM. Almost four hours before sunrise. Roughly an hour and a half before Ed would declare his curiosity satisfied and beg him to assist him in the dismembering and disposing of the now-useless body.

Oswald sighed. He might as well get comfortable – or as comfortable as the minimalistic furnishing of the laboratory allowed. His choice fell on one of the wooden chairs cluttered up in a corner, that produced a subtle creak when he sat. Well, subtle in any other circumstance, maybe, but deafening in the quiet broken only by Ed's steady breathing and continuous rambling as he jotted down another observation on his trusty notebook.

The history of his relationship with Ed Nygma was best summarised by a series of unfortunate incidents. A scorching betrayal, a dead girlfriend, an impromptu funeral, an abandoned trailer among the trees. Grief and desperation and so, so much hunger.

Ever since the fateful night in which he had found him wounded and half-starved in the woods, Ed had made no mystery of his fascination. Even as he nursed him back to health, no doubt knowing he might end up being his next meal as soon as he regained his former strength, he had looked at him with an intensity that had made Oswald feel naked in spite of the stained bandages covering his stitched-up torso and the too-big set of pyjamas his rescuer had oh so kindly provided. Awe instead of fear, admiration in place of disgust.

Ed Nygma was a peculiar sort of fellow, he had concluded.

And though he _had_ eventually recovered his clarity and vigour – in part thanks to Ed's zeal in procuring fresh victims for him – the long weeks he had passed in a strange haze, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, had left him with an underlying sense of weakness that had nothing to do with blood or the lack thereof. It ran deeper, coursed through his veins, coiled tight around the little black hole he had instead of a heart.

The Oswald who had clawed his way up to the top with no regard for lives other than his own, the sickly umbrella boy-turned ruthless gang leader who had claimed his throne by tearing apart his very creator, wouldn't have hesitated before erasing the only witness of his downfall from existence, ensuring any and all evidence of his humiliating stay at a human's house died with him. It would have been easy enough. After just a few days sharing his neon-lit apartment, Oswald had come to notice that Ed was anything but a people's person. He was bound to be, if he'd rather spend his time cheering up a grieving vampire than hanging out with his friends or co-workers. It wasn't a stretch to assume no-one would come looking for him. Yet, even if he had contemplated slicing his throat open and drinking from him until there was nothing left more times than he cared to count, he had always failed to go through with it. Because under the bespoke suits, the angry flashing of fangs to keep his underlings in check, and the exemplary punishments, there was someone who had been taught by his dearly missed mother about the importance of compassion and just reward. He wouldn't have dreamt of rewarding the man who had done so much to ensure his survival with a cruel, untimely death. Some might have called it the mark of a skewed moral compass. Oswald called it basic decency.

So had listened to him, indulged him and his morbid curiosity for everything undead and possibly lethal. Ed's questions had started small ("Who turned you?" and "How old are you, really?" and "How many times a week do you need to feed?" and "Can you survive under direct sunlight?"), but had soon grown more and more personal, and by the time he had felt strong enough to leave the scientist's apartment, the questions had become outright demands, not to tell him but to _show him_. Every other night, he found Ed waiting for him outside his temporary hideout with a new set of ridiculous requests, ranging from sneaking him into a vampire-exclusive club, to letting him watch and take notes as he fed on his preys, to helping him stuff the bodies in the trunk of his car so that he could study them in the relative safety and comfort of the GCPD's deserted forensics lab. 

If Oswald had naively hoped his new friend would soon be scared off his endeavour and leave him to concoct a sure-fire scheme to exact his revenge on those who had betrayed him, he had soon found himself disappointed. In fact, Ed Nygma had made a point to surprise him even in that department. It seemed like the more he learned, the deeper he delved into the kind of sordid affairs that would have left many fellow humans screaming their lungs out in horror, the more eager he was to pursue the investigation that would lead him to unveil the most well-kept secrets lying hidden beneath Gotham's dark underbelly. For each question he answered or refused to answer – certain matters weren't meant for human ears, after all – Ed came up with ten, fifteen, twenty more. Oswald had found himself abandoning any hopes of seeing him one day run out of queries rather quickly.

It had come to the point where he had to wonder how in the world was he able to explore the seediest corners of Gotham with him by night and carry out his duties as the GCPD's resident forensics expert by day, with scarcely an hour or two of sleep. He couldn't really see him dozing off at work, and during their rendezvous he had often proved to be full of energy an ordinary human being would have gathered only from several hours of rest. The dark circles around his eyes were the only evidence of his night-time activities. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought the man had some vampire blood in him.

Oswald's train of thought was halted by the blade of a scalpel catching the artificial light of the LEDs flickering above them. Ed was always thorough in his analysis, determined not to let even the most insignificant, unremarkable element escape his piercing gaze. This was the fifth subject Oswald had provided for him, and yet he still managed to find something unexpected and worthy of his renewed excitement. Something that would have him coming back for more – much to Oswald's chagrin.

"Still hoping to find something new?" He asked him, not bothering to conceal the teasing edge in the tone of his voice.

"Not really," Ed admitted. He offered him the brief hint of a complicit smile before returning his attention to the body. "I have collected more than enough data from your previous victims to get a general idea of your species' feeding behaviour, but some of the details remain unclear. I still have a few hypotheses I haven't been able to confirm nor disprove. For instance, I still want to find out if is possible for a human being to incur in some kind of side-effect if they were to survive a bite. The best way to do it, of course, would be to study a living subject, but alas..."

The Y-shaped incision revealed the tangled mess of the dead man's insides, allowing Ed to start removing the organs. He went about actions that would probably qualify as desecrating with such care and precision, that it reminded Oswald of the stories he had once read about ancient gods ripping out and weighing the hearts of the dead to determine how pure and righteous they had been in life before sending them off to either eternal rest or eternal damnation. The knowledge that Ed was performing the same actions for an entirely more selfish purpose didn't ruin the picture one bit. As it was often the case, he found his mind drifting off as his human friend diligently carried on with his gruesome work.

"What does it feel like?"

Accustomed as he was to tuning out Ed's ramblings, Oswald almost didn't realise the question was directed at him. His immediate instinct was to lift one eyebrow, offering him his best perplexed expression.

"Genuine curiosity," Ed went on without losing a beat. "Hearing it from the source might help me get the full picture."

Oswald's frown softened into a smirk. "I assume you know what they say curiosity did to the cat?"

Ed paused when he caught a glimpse of a pointy canine and he had to resist the urge to shake his head. Humans were so impressionable! It did seem like this one in particular was full of surprises, though, as not only did he keep on doing...whatever he was doing to the dead man's liver, but if his stubbornness wavered for a moment, he was quick to recover.

"I can safely say I'm smarter than your average cat, Mr. Cobb-- Oswald."

Oswald let out a sound halfway between a snort and a chuckle. It had taken him a while to get Ed to address him by his first name. He still slipped sometimes. Usually, he would have retorted with some cutting remark about his inability to let go of such useless formalities but, as things stood, he was entirely too preoccupied with finding an adequate response. It wasn't an easy question to answer, either. In spite of his impressive vocabulary, Oswald found himself struggling to put memory into words, to find the right metaphor to describe the craving capable of driving the sanest of vampires to madness if left unsated. He got up from his chair, unthinkingly, and began to slowly pace back and forth, as if stretching his legs could help him summon the exact expression he was looking for.

A vampire's hunger was unlike any other feeling a human might experience in their whole life. Any attempt at a comparing it with something Ed could relate to would have been useless. It started small, an itch at the back of your throat that became more and more persistent the longer it went ignored. Then it broke into feverish, ravenous need. Before long, you found yourself delirious, almost too weak to stand and at the same time too restless not to keep moving, keep searching. It was torture, one he had learned to inflict on his most obstinate enemies with remarkable results. All you needed was an empty room and a sturdy lock – no need for fancy prisons or extravagant torture techniques. They always talked in the end.

"It's nothing like a human's hunger for food, but I suppose you already guessed that," he began tentatively. Ed hummed. It was unclear whether it was to confirm his assumption or simply to signal he was listening, even if his eyes were still trained on the mangled body lying stiff upon the slab. "You hardly notice it when it starts. Keep resisting it and you find yourself shaking, struggling to ignore the ache burning inside you. And it's not just your throat or your stomach, it's your entire body. Wait any longer and your mind starts to cloud, everything else loses importance, there's only hunger taking over your every thought. You'd do anything for a taste. And when your senses catch even the faintest smell of blood or the distant drum of a heartbeat, you're more animal than man." He paused, fighting off the still much too vivid memory of the one and only time Miss Mooney had allowed him to get horrifyingly close to starvation, for the sake of teaching him a lesson. "At least that's how I remember it. It's been a while since I've allowed myself to go so long without feeding."

Ed's nervous laughter bounced off the grey walls of the laboratory. A deep frown formed on Oswald's face. He couldn't see what was so amusing about the horrific description he had just given of one of the worst kind of pain a vampire might experience in the course of their immortal existence. He tried to go back to recall whether he had used a particularly odd-sounding word or expression, but he came up empty handed. The reason for the other man's hilarity remained a mystery.

"I'm sorry," Ed said, raising his head to look right back at him. He reached for a clean cloth to polish the scalpel before setting it aside, returning it to its rightful place in the row of sharp objects on the tray. Oswald suspected there was a specific reason behind the the placement of each tool, but for the life of him he couldn't tell which. "I should have been more specific. I was wondering, well-- what it feels like to be bitten."

Oswald's dumbfounded silence didn't faze him. Instead, he kept on talking as if he they were discussing something as banal and innocuous as the weather.

"You see, I've done some research and while examining the puncture wounds left by your canines on the subjects’ neck I found traces of a substance akin to phenacetin, which has an analgesic effect. It makes sense, I mean, you'd want your prey to be as relaxed and plant as possible while you're feeding. Which would explain why, as you told me, victims tend not to fight back once the vampire starts drinking."

Pictures of countless men and women flashed in front of Oswald's mind's eye. The haunted look in the eyes of those who had lost everything and were left with no choice but to offer themselves in sacrifice to creatures they couldn't even comprehend in exchange for a few bucks had always made him uneasy. His pride did its utmost to convince him he'd have died rather than become one of them. But another, treacherous part of him sometimes wondered how long he would have lasted if Fish Mooney hadn't decided to turn him and take him under her wing.

He had stopped pacing, folded his arms on his chest and was now pinning the other man down with an icy stare. "Are you asking what I think you're asking?"

Ed adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, a swift, nervous movement. Oswald could sense his heartbeat had picked up again. And yet, he sounded surprisingly confident in his foolish resolve when he responded: "I think you already know the answer."

He did.

There was nothing inherently dangerous about satisfying his curiosity, Oswald tried to tell himself. He was well fed for the night, and would be for a few days more, which meant losing his composure and accidentally draining too much blood was a non-issue. Still, he hesitated. Because someone willingly submitting themselves to the danger of being torn apart simply didn't exist in his world. He had _heard_ about secret venues where his kind admitted human thrill-seekers in exchange for an offering of their blood, but he had always dismissed them as nothing but rumours made up by young vampires who liked to boast their own reputation by claiming they didn't need to hunt, because preys came back to them of their own accord night after night.

If he yielded, one of them, perhaps both of them, might very well grow to regret it in the span of a few moments. However, he couldn't deny how a part of him just wanted to see how far Ed would go. What it would take for him to understand that those who recklessly played with fire often ended up burning themselves. Or setting their entire house ablaze.

"Very well. I did promise to help you with your little research, didn't I?" He said, as if he needed to justify his decision in some way or another. As far as justifications went, it was flimsy at best, which didn't prevent him from gesturing Ed to get closer. "Come here."

Ed moved as if pulled by invisible strings. He nearly bumped against the corner of the autopsy table in his haste to get to him. A sarcastic remark about his innate submissiveness ran through Oswald's mind, but he decided to keep it for himself.

He looked him up and down, assessing him, while giving himself some time to gather his own courage and self-control. "I'll need you to bend down a little. And to hold very still."

He _could_ have raised on the tip of his toes to get a better reach, but that would have been rather uncomfortable, not to mention slightly humiliating. Ed complied, once more and without question. Oswald silently thanked the nameless man lying with his chest open on the metal table behind Ed. Hadn't it been for him, he would have already given in to the temptation of reaching up, tightening his fingers around the short hair at the back of Ed’s neck and pulling his head to the side to sink his teeth in the pale flesh beneath his jaw.

To his credit, Ed followed his instructions to the letter. He stood perfectly still, arms hanging by his sides, the only hint that he was finally starting to come to terms with the reality of the situation he had put himself in was how his eyes darted back and forth between him and an unspecified point on the opposite wall. And his racing heart, of course. Oswald rested a hand on his shoulder to keep himself grounded, before he pressed his lips to the soft skin of his neck, shockingly warm against his lips. The imitation of a kiss as a silent apology for the pain that would come soon after. Ed shivered against him in fear – or anticipation, it would have been rather hard to tell.

There was no way to be gentle. Oh, he could try all he wanted, but it was still razor-sharp teeth piercing flesh. He felt Ed's body tense the moment his fangs grazed the skin, then breathe out a small whimper when they slowly sunk in, found the vein and started drawing blood.

Oswald's eyes dropped closed. He let himself savour it. No reason not to. Honey-sweet, not tainted by the drugs his previous victim had been sampling when he had ambushed him in the filthy alley behind the gambling joint. A rarity in Gotham nowadays, especially when you were forced to prowl the Narrows for food lest you attracted unwanted attention. His iron grip on Ed's shoulder tightened somewhat, but the young man gave no sign of recoiling. He could feel his pulse like it was his own as he inhaled deep, relishing in the scent of blood mixed with the faint smell of toothpaste and generic brand aftershave. Only when Ed grasped helplessly at the lapels of his suit jacket, holding onto him for dear life, did he realise that he should probably start to let go. He really should. He was no human biology expert and, even though Ed probably was, he knew his abysmal sense of self-preservation couldn't be trusted. Any second more could be stretching it too far.

A frustrated growl clawed its way up his throat at the thought of ending it all so soon. It died against Ed's neck when he allowed himself the luxury of one last sip. Then he let go, taking care to catch a few stray droplets on his tongue to keep them from staining Ed's shirt. In an attempt at getting some distance between them, he pushed him away with perhaps too much force, sending him stumbling back. If his expression was anything to go by, his assumption regarding the chemicals produced during a bite to help numb all pain beyond the initial sting was correct.

"Oh," he murmured, blinking repeatedly as if waking from a bizarre lucid dream. He reached up to feel the texture of the bitemark with his fingertips. "That was-- enlightening. Thank you for indulging me. I feel a bit dizzy, but that is a given I guess. I gather there won't be long-term consequences?"

"I don't know, Ed you tell me," Oswald rebutted, with an odd mixture of exasperation and fondness in his voice. "You're the one who has been studying vampire biology for weeks. What I can tell you from my personal experience is that--"

He meant to say something about how vampires were usually taught to finish their victims as to prevent eventual said long-term consequences from occurring, but he didn't get the chance. Ed leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, tongue darting out to wipe away the smudge of fresh blood clinging to his bottom lip. Oswald couldn't help but chuckle when he saw him wrinkle his nose, as he pulled back. "Does it taste as bitter to you?"

"Much, much sweeter than that."

Behind the frame of his glasses, Ed's eyes grew darker. "I thought so."

He circled the autopsy table on unsteady legs to retrieve his notebook, and immediately began scribbling down what he could only assume was a detailed account of the experience, complete with the conclusions he had been able to draw from it.

It was then that Oswald came to an unsettling, yet most heady realisation. It was only a matter of time before Ed would ask something more out of their bargain. Before he would beg him to make him like him. To turn him.

In that moment, he had the terrifying certainty that, when the moment would come, he wouldn't find it in himself to refuse.


End file.
